


Blood is Red & Sweet as Cherry Wine

by DarthAbby



Category: MASH (TV)
Genre: Blood, Established Relationship, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Homophobic OCs, Hurt/Comfort, Klinger is a Good Bro, M/M, Papa Bear Sherman Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-25
Updated: 2020-02-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:55:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22885885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarthAbby/pseuds/DarthAbby
Summary: "Colonel Potter!" He shouted as he reached the bottom of the hill. "Somebody!Help!"His fingers briefly squeezed Hawkeye reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hawk. It's gonna be okay."Hawkeye made a pained noise, but BJ couldn't tell if it was in agreement or just involuntary."Colonel Potter!"---BJ (and friends) rescue Hawk from some bigots.
Relationships: B. J. Hunnicutt/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce
Comments: 34
Kudos: 176





	Blood is Red & Sweet as Cherry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Another fic inspired by the 4077th discord! Much love to everyone there, and special shoutouts to Andy (both of them!), Glitter, Maddie, Martha, Ronnie, Braigwen, Lee, Rylie, and Milla for the encouragement.
> 
> And extra-special shoutouts to Sarah, for looking over the medical terms for me; Chris, who doesn't even watch MASH but let's me yell about it to them constantly <3; and Rin, for once again providing me with some heartbreaking sketches of a few scenes in this fic.
> 
> Title from "Cherry Wine" by Hozier.

They should have been maybe a little suspicious, but nothing made sense these days, so when an unfamiliar corpsman ran up to the Swamp and yelled that Captain Pierce was needed on the chopper pad, _immediately,_ Hawk leapt up without a second thought, grabbing his kit and running out of the door.

BJ headed for the OR. Even if it wasn't enough wounded to warrant a camp-wide announcement, he would probably be needed there soon enough.

No one else was in pre-op, or the scrub room. He frowned as he looked around. Wouldn't the corpsman have notified at least one nurse? Shouldn't Margaret be rushing in by now - or if not her, one of the others? Why wasn't he hearing _any_ commotion around camp - even a single Jeep with wounded caused _some_ activity. And now that he thought about it, there hadn't been any chopper noises since the early hours of the morning, so why would there be wounded at the chopper pad?

Unless, of course, there wasn't any wounded at all, and Hawk had been lured up there for some reason.

BJ couldn't really think of any _good_ reasons.

He tugged his jacket back on and stepped outside, squinting up at the chopper pad. There were several people up there, leaned over like they were tending to someone on a gurney, but no chopper.

No familiar head of greying black hair among the regulation green caps, either.

BJ felt his heart in his throat and took off at a dead sprint.

* * *

"What happened?" Hawkeye asked, running after the corpsman who had come to fetch him. "I didn't hear any choppers!" He didn't _see_ any either. "Is there incoming?"

The corpsman didn't answer, just bowed his head as he reached the bottom of the hill and didn't slow his pace as he raced up towards the pad. Hawkeye gripped his bag tighter, worry coursing through him. It was either top-secret or _insanely_ serious if no one had told the corpsman what was going on so that he could relay the information to the doctor.

Hawkeye ran faster.

They reached the chopper pad in record time, but Hawk only became more confused. There were no wounded, no waiting nurses or Jeeps, no one watching the sky anxiously. Just several big soldiers with scowls on their faces.

"What's going on?" he demanded.

The corpsman kept running until he reached the group, then looked over his shoulder at Hawkeye. _"Get him."_

The first punch landed in his gut.

_Rectus abdominus._

He doubled over, wheezing, and the next blow landed between his shoulder blades.

_Supraspinous ligament._

His knees hit the ground, arms wrapped instinctively around his chest, and someone kicked viciously at his side.

_External oblique._

A hand grabbed his shoulder and yanked him upright. Another hand, curled into a fist, landed on his face.

_Zygomaticus._

Another fist, from a different direction, with unfortunately good aim. Or perhaps his nose just presented too big of a target to be missed.

_Procerus. Nasalis._

His head was snapped to the side when someone else caught his eye socket.

_Orbicularis oculi._

His lower lip was smashed against his teeth and started to bleed inside and out. 

_Orbicularis orbis._

His cheek, again.

_Zygomaticus._

A blow to the side of his head that had him literally seeing stars.

_Temporalis._

His jaw.

_Masseter._

He panted, looking up fuzziliy at his assailants.

"Guys, please," he gasped. "I don't understand. What did I ever do to you?"

_Temporalis._

He ended up sprawled on his side in the dirt, head pounding and the taste of blood on his tongue.

"Fuckin' _queer."_

The word landed like another blow and Hawk closed his eyes.

"I saw you," the supposed corpsman sneered. "Outside'a Rosie's the other night. You were practically hanging off that other doctor."

_Beej._

A sharp kick made him curl into the fetal position.

_Iliac furrow._

_Beej, Beej, need Beej._

Another kick, this one from behind.

_Sacrospinalis._

"You're _disgusting._ Both'a ya. And he's even _married_ I hear. Which makes it all the worse -"

_Sacrospinalis._

"- that I saw the two of you, back in your _disgusting_ tent -"

_Sacrospinalis._

"- _kissing."_ He spat it like a dirty word, and the pain in Hawk's body was nothing compared to that in his heart.

There's a round of jeers that goes up at that - these men, these _boys_ obviously were all aware of why, exactly, they were beating him bloody.

The same person with damnably heavy boots kicked him in the same place on his back.

_Sacrospinalis._

He was going to have kidney damage if the bastard kept that up -

"Thankfully, you idiot _whores_ are easy to trick." A sinister laugh. "You know, I even saw the other fag run off to the OR while I was leading you here? He bought it, you both did. Hook -"

_Sacrospinalis._

"- line -"

_Sacrospinalis._

"- and fuckin' _sinker."_

The kick to his face whipped his head back.

_Procerus. Nasalis. Corrugator. Quadratic labii superiorus. Infraorbital head. Zygomatic head._

The musculature of his own face was the only thing keeping him hanging on to any shred of himself other than _pain_ and _fear_ but that last blow was enough that he went flashing back to a crashed Jeep and a long rant about whitefish - a concussion? He can't afford a concussion, not now, not when people _know_ and they're _hurting_ him because of it, not when they'll hurt BJ next. Oh, God, BJ, BJ was probably wondering where he was, what was taking so long, BJ didn't know that they'd been found out, BJ was -

"HEY!"

...BJ was here?

_"Pick on a surgeon your own size!"_

* * *

In his time in Korea, BJ had seen a lot of things that scared him, that angered him, that made him sick, that caused him to worry. Nothing that hit all those chords in the same way at the time time, though, until he got close enough to the top of the chopper pad to see that the soldiers were all standing around someone on the ground with familiar greying black hair, who was curled up and bleeding, and that they laughed when one kicked him in the face.

"HEY!" he shouted as he reached the pad. "Pick on a surgeon your own size!"

The soldiers whipped around, saw him, and started to laugh. What could one lone doctor do? A few started towards him with menacing looks, until his backup appeared.

Klinger and few other sentries, rifles in hand, reached the top of the hill, took in the scene, and charged forward with a yell.

BJ ran with them. He wasn't carrying a rifle, but that didn't stop him from grabbing the seedy corpsman whom he had seen kick Hawkeye in the face and punch him hard enough that his lip and BJ's knuckles both started bleeding. "Klinger!"

"Sir!" His dress was dusty and already had a little blood on it, and his hat was askew, but for once it seemed that he wasn't thinking about his clothes.

"Keep an eye on this one." BJ tossed him to the ground in disgust. "Don't let him move an _inch."_

"With pleasure, Captain," Klinger said, aiming his rifle at the man's head with steady hands. The other sentries were routing the soldiers without too much fuss, but BJ didn't have any more attention to spare for them. He went straight to Hawkeye's side.

"Hawk? Hawk, can you hear me?"

One eye managed to open despite the blood and the swelling. "Beej… get outta here, Beej… s'not safe…"

"Don't worry, I brought more guys then he did. Couldn't leave you behind enemy lines, after all." He tried to smile, but knew it probably came out more like a grimace. Hawkeye didn't look good - bleeding from his nose and mouth, bruises were forming around both eyes (which were unfocused and glazed - was he concussed?), and he was breathing slowly but shallowly. "Let's get outta here."

Since Hawkeye was already curled up, it was pretty easy to get his arms under Hawk's knees and shoulders and roll him upright. He groaned in pain and wrapped his arms around BJ's neck, tucking his face into BJ's chest as they stood up.

He was so light - they had both lost weight since arriving in Korea, of course, but Hawkeye was almost as light as Peggy had been before she was pregnant, and he was at least a foot taller than her.

BJ clutched Hawkeye tighter to him and spun towards the path back down into camp. He didn't dare run for fear of jostling Hawk too much, but he went as quickly as he could.

"Colonel Potter!" He shouted as he reached the bottom of the hill. "Somebody! _Help!"_ His fingers briefly squeezed Hawkeye reassuringly. "Don't worry, Hawk. It's gonna be okay."

Hawkeye made a pained noise, but BJ couldn't tell if it was in agreement or just involuntary.

_"Colonel Potter!"_

"Hell's bells, BJ, what -" Potter stopped dead, all annoyance vanishing from his face the moment he rounded the corner and saw BJ and his precious cargo. "Take him to OR, it's empty. What _happened?"_

"He got jumped by a group of guys on the chopper pad," BJ said grimly. "Klinger and some others are taking care of them now." He plowed on, heading for the OR and the relative safety of four walls that he had almost spent more time in than the Swamp.

Potter wasn't behind him when he got inside, but BJ didn't pause to wonder at it. He set Hawkeye down gingerly on one of the tables, feeling a pang in his heart as Hawk instinctively curled up again, protecting his internal organs from any coming blows.

"It's okay," BJ whispered, gently carding his fingers through Hawk's hair as both comfort, and trying to get a better look at his face. "You're safe. It's just me now."

A shiver ran through Hawkeye. "Beej…" His name was so small and hoarse in Hawkeye's mouth. "They - they knew, Beej… 'bout us. S'why…" he trailed off, but BJ got the picture, and it was making him feel sick. _He_ was the reason Hawkeye had been beaten bloody.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat. They had time to worry about that later. "I'm gonna clean you up, okay? Might sting a bit."

Hawkeye gave a small nod and closed his eyes.

"Don't fall asleep just yet, I think you're concussed."

"I am," he grumbled. "But it hurts t' see."

That garnered a tiny smile from BJ, at least. "Okay, I'll just keep talking while I fix you up."

It was slow work. He didn't want to cause Hawkeye any more pain than absolutely necessary, but he also didn't want to miss anything. As the blood and dirt came off his face, it became clear that he was going to be black and blue for a while. The entire time he described what he was doing in detail - it reminded him of working with young children while he was in residency, or with the orphans from nearby. Keeping them more focused on why the treatment worked than on how it stung or pinched. 

"Okay," BJ finally said, sitting back and disposing of the last cotton ball. "Where else did they get you?"

"M' back, front, side…" Hawk gestured vaguely at his whole abdominal area. "Beej?"

"Yeah?"

"Army boots _hurt."_

"Yeah," BJ said, feeling that lump in his throat again. 

He helped Hawkeye sit up and remove his shirt. The same anger from before flared in his chest as he saw the marks of boots and fists on Hawk's skin - there was a spot on his back that was a worryingly dark shade of red, and Hawk hissed when BJ lightly touched it. 

"How -?"

"Kicked me," Hawkeye muttered. "Five or six times. Good aim." 

BJ swallowed the words bubbling behind his lips. This wasn't the time to start shouting, as much as he wanted to. He needed to focus on taking care of Hawkeye's injuries - he would find out where Klinger had stashed the assholes who had dealt out those injuries later and have _words_ with them then.

"Well, I don't think anything is broken," he declared a few minutes later. "Did I miss any spots?"

Hawk shook his head slowly. "No. Thank you."

"Hey," he said softly, resting his hands on top of Hawk's. "It's no trouble at all." There was a slight pain against his knuckles and he jumped a little, looking down. Hawkeye was running his thumb over BJ's own injuries, which he had completely forgotten about, focused as he was on Hawk.

"You're hurt."

"Only a little. And it was worth it," BJ said decisively. 

Hawk reached over and grabbed a clean cotton ball. BJ tried to pull his hand back, but it was held firmly in Hawk's grasp now. "Hey, come on, you need to rest."

"I'll rest when you're okay."

"I'm -"

"Shut up, Beej, and let me do this."

Well, cleaning up his knuckles with a concussion was a lot safer than surgery with a concussion, so BJ fell silent and let Hawk work, adding to the already impressive collection of dirty pink cotton balls on the tray next to them.

"Hawk?"

"Yeah?"

BJ stared at him - the cuts on his face, the tender swells of bruises starting to form, the dust making his hair look even greyer, the spots of dried blood on his collarbone, the careful concentration as he ran the cotton ball over the back of BJ's hand. He looked up when BJ remained quiet. "What is it?"

"I love you," he said softly.

It wasn't the first time he had said it, but Hawk melted like it was. "Yeah," he whispered. "I love you, too."

* * *

Colonel Potter wasn't very tall, but that didn't stop him from looming over the corpsman that Klinger had dumped unceremoniously in the chair opposite his desk.

"You'd better have a _damn_ good explanation for beating my chief surgeon into a pulp, Private," he snarled. "If we get a new batch of wounded while he's unable to work, I'll have your _head,_ you understand?"

The private shrunk back a little, the back of his head knocking into the rifle that Klinger was still holding where he was stood guard behind him. He flinched at the feel of the gun. "I - I was just - I -"

_"Speak up!"_

"Yessir." Sweat was starting to bead on the private's forehead. "He's - he's a queer, sir!"

"Who is?"

"The doctor, sir! Captain Pierce!"

"And you thought that that gave you the right to turn his face into cranberry sauce?" Potter demanded.

"W-well, it's - it's - it's un-American, s-sir."

"Un-American?" Potter repeated. _"Un-American?!_ Son, I didn't fight in both World Wars for you to beat the hell out of one of our own just because you _think_ one of the finest cutters I've ever had the _honor_ to work with was having a bit of fun!"

The private was shaking slightly now. His palms pressed into the chair as he tried to lean further back from Potter.

"In case you haven't noticed, _Private,_ this is M*A*S*H 4077th," he said, voice dropping and sounding all the more dangerous for the low volume. "We have the best survival rate of the entire blasted war, and the man that you _claim_ is un-American, the man whose face you told your buddies to bash in, is a _very_ big part of that record. And let me tell you _this,"_ Potter said, bending down to get directly in his face. "If a week from now, you end up on Captain Pierce's table, I know he would do _everything_ in his power to save your life. But if you end up on Captain Hunnicutt's table, or my own?" His eyes narrowed as he shook his head slowly. "Private, you'd better hope God is a lot more forgiving than us."

* * *

"How is he?"

"Resting," BJ said as he started to pace the floor in front of Potter's desk. He had sat with Hawkeye for a while in the Swamp after they had left the OR, until he had no longer felt the need to compulsively check that Hawk was still breathing without difficulty. Klinger had fetched him from the showers, telling him that Potter was requesting him. "Not very _well,_ you understand, but he's in his cot and his eyes are closed."

"Who's with him?"

"Radar. He knows the drill with concussions, and he's probably the only person right now who'll be able to wake him up without getting punched."

Potter surveyed BJ for a long moment. "I notice you're including yourself in the second group."

BJ crossed his arms roughly as he kept pacing, brow furrowed at the floor. "It's my fault he was jumped in the first place."

"Captain -"

"No, it is!" he insisted. "Hawk told me that they knew about… about him and I." He faltered for a moment. It was still frightening, hinting at it to people that weren't Hawkeye or Peg, even though Potter would never do anything to hurt them, and had proved that numerous times over. "If I hadn't -"

"If you _hadn't,_ BJ, then Hawk would be much worse off mentally than he is now, and so would you." Potter said sternly. "Don't think I don't know that you two are the only things keeping each other sane in this joint."

BJ hesitated in his pacing, just for a moment, then continued on. "But he wouldn't have been beat all to hell if we weren't -"

"BJ, stop wearing a trench in my floor and look at me." He did an abrupt about-face, giving Potter a miserable look. 

"Sir?"

"Listen to me, BJ," he said sternly. "If it wasn't Hawkeye, it would have been Klinger, or one of the others. Those kinds of people are always spoiling for a fight and just looking for an excuse to pick on someone they think is inferior. Just so happens that this time, they decided to pick on your boy." He snorted. "And I made damn sure that that little ringleader is regretting it."

"Yeah?" A smile was tugging at BJ's lips.

"You can bet the farm on it," Potter assured him. "Go on, go back to the Swamp. I know you're itching to check on him."

"Yes, sir." BJ turned to go.

"And, Captain Hunnicutt," Potter called, carefully indifferent. "Don't get too close to the VIP tent. Wouldn't want you to disturb the rest of those men inside."

"...yes, Colonel Potter. The VIP tent."

* * *

Hawkeye woke up with a pounding headache that seemed to be shaking his entire face in time with his pulse. It was very far from pleasant, and his mood wasn't improved by the not-so-quiet cursing from the other side of the tent.

 _"Ouch,_ damnit, Radar!"

"Sorry, sir!"

"Could you at least _try_ to be careful?"

"I don't know what I'm doing, sir! Why didn't you ask one of the nurses, huh?"

"Because the nurses would ask questions, remember?"

"...yes, sir. Hold still, then."

 _"Shit,_ that smarts!"

"Radar," Hawk called out hoarsely, "forget it. Doctors always make the worst patients."

"Hawkeye!"

He cracked an eye open enough to watch Radar rush to his bedside, BJ right behind him.

"Are you okay, sir?" Radar asked anxiously.

"Besides the marching band that's practicing in my head, yeah, I'm fine," Hawk assured him. "What's going on?"

"Nothing," BJ said quickly.

"Anyone ever tell you you're an awful liar, Beej?"

"Only when I'm trying to lie to you," he admitted with a soft laugh. "It really is nothing, Hawk. Go back to sleep."

"Radar?"

"Hey, you can't just -"

"He had a 'talk' with the guys who beat you up."

"Radar, I told you not to -!"

 _"You what?!"_ Hawkeye struggled to sit up, wheezing a bit as pain flared with the movement, but pressed on. "BJ, you _idiot_ -"

"I wasn't about to let them get away with it!" BJ burst out, turning away just enough that he didn't elbow Radar in the head when he crossed his arms. "It's fine. They're all breathing."

"On their own or through tubes?" Hawk demanded.

"On their _own,_ Christ, Hawk, how little do you think of me? I'm not an animal!" BJ snapped. "I thought you would have been _grateful."_

"Grateful?! BJ, you could get a dishonorable -"

"I don't _care!"_ he said loudly. Radar jumped aside as BJ moved closer to Hawkeye. "Don't you _get it?_ They beat you senseless, I had to _carry_ you to the OR from the chopper pad, I spent over an hour patching you up, or is your brain so rattled that you don't even remember that?"

"I remember," Hawk said quietly, eyeing the torn bandages on BJ's hand. "I just don't understand why you went _back."_

BJ laughed, just this side of hysterical. "You remember what I told you in OR, when you were cleaning my knuckles?"

"... I do, yeah."

 _"That's why._ Okay? That's why." He sat down heavily on the edge of the cot. Neither noticed when the door to the Swamp closed as Radar made his retreat. "And if you don't understand now, then… I don't even know what to tell you."

Hawkeye took a deep breath, instantly regretted it, and rubbed his side as he spoke. "I understand. I just… look, you're upset because they hurt me. I don't much like it either, you know. But I don't want _you_ to get in trouble trying to play white knight!"

"Hawk," BJ said, giving a helpless little laugh as he gestured around them. "We're already in trouble. We're surgeons in a M*A*S*H unit." His hand dropped onto Hawkeye's knee, a warm weight through the blanket. "But you're worth the trouble."

"Beej…"

"No, you said your piece, now I'm gonna say mine." He squeezed Hawkeye's knee briefly. "I see what you're saying, I do. But, I can't… I can't just let something like that happen. I know you're a staunch pacifist and the worst you've ever done was short-sheet Frank -"

"Not true, you weren't here for the latrine matinee."

"- regardless," BJ continued with a light laugh. "I can't just stand by and let you get pummeled. And if I didn't do something, Peg would be on the next flight to Korea to do it herself."

That earned him a begrudging laugh. "Now that I'd like to see."

BJ grinned. "You will. When you come home to California with me. But you can only do that if you're still in one piece."

"And you can only bring me home if you're not in Leavenworth!"

"Are you honestly trying to tell me that if those assholes had jumped me, you wouldn't be raring for a round with 'em?"

"No," Hawkeye said sullenly. "I'd just slip 'em some laxatives and painkillers, sit back, and enjoy them tripping over each other as they sleepwalk to the latrine."

BJ rolled his eyes, but before he could say anything more, Hawk held his hand out. "Come on, let me clean up your hand. _Again."_

He obliged, letting Hawkeye fuss over him for a few minutes and not complaining when he yanked on the bandages a bit sharply.

"Satisfied?" he asked as Hawkeye held up BJ's freshly bandaged hand to the light.

"With my work? Yes."

BJ shook his head with a little smile. It was a rare night where they were alone in the Swamp - Charles was off in Seoul for R&R and wouldn't be returning until the following evening - and normally he would be trying to crawl into Hawk's skin, but tonight… he wasn't so sure where they stood tonight.

The bruises on Hawkeye's face were nearing a deep purple, his eyes were puffy, and his lower lip was a little swollen. It probably hurt to talk, but his motormouth wouldn't be stopped by something as trifling as pain.

"Hawk?"

"Hm?"

"...I'm glad you're okay."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm glad you're okay, too."

BJ felt oddly shy - he hadn't been this skittish even the first time he had approached Hawk with the intent to lay out his feelings. "Is there anywhere safe to kiss you right now? I don't want to hurt you."

Hawk blinked at him, then held up his left arm and pointed at his elbow. "Here."

BJ leaned forward and pressed a gentle kiss to the skin.

They stared at each other for a moment, and Hawk held up his right hand. "Here."

BJ took Hawk's hand in both of his own and smoothed his thumbs over the palm before giving it another gentle kiss.

He looked up and found Hawk watching him, something unquantifiable in his eyes. 

"Hawk?" he whispered.

"Beej?"

"I'm sorry."

"I am, too." He managed a small smile, and tapped his cheekbone, way back by his ear. "This doesn't hurt too much."

BJ smiled back, heart soaring at the forgiveness, and leaned forward to give Hawkeye a chaste kiss.

_Zygomaticus._


End file.
